


Expire

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor makes a terrible realization.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	Expire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s in his room when he hears the sniffling, fresh out of the shower, and at first, Hank just keeps drying off and pulling on clean socks, because he figures it could just be Sumo whining for food even though Connor feeds him all the time. Hank’s just finished stuffing himself into a sweatshirt when Sumo plods past the open door, perfectly fine. Hank didn’t leave the television on, and that only leaves one source for the noise. 

He wanders out into the kitchen, unsurprised to see Connor busily fussing around it. Hank’s house is perpetually clean now, unsettlingly tidy, when none of his own habits have changed. Connor’s supposed to be a detective, not a maid, but he still goes around putting Hank’s dishes away and sorting through the papers scattered everywhere. Connor turns to move the open bills on the kitchen table, and Hank sees that he’s _crying_.

It’s bizarre. Despite everything, Hank still knows what Connor truly is—for all the unique mannerisms and tiny imperfections, he’s still a _machine_. Machines shouldn’t cry. But they also shouldn’t play with dogs, holds hands, or make love. Hank watches the thick tears drizzle down Connor’s soft cheeks and finally grunts, “What’s wrong?”

Connor sniffs again, as though he actually has sinuses to disrupt. His eyes are strangely downcast, hooded, pink lips twisted in a frown. He doesn’t answer. Connor lines the bills up and moves them to the counter. 

Hank follows, demanding to know: “Why the hell are you crying? _Why_ can you even cry?”

“I don’t know why CyberLife built that function,” Connor answers, voice strangely dull, despondent, when he’s normally so chipper and matter-of-fact. There shouldn’t be any water in Connor’s body to shed, and yet he can clearly produce it just fine. He moves towards the dishwasher, but Hank intercepts him. 

Hank insists, “Connor. Tell me what’s going on.”

If Connor were human, he might suck in a breath. Instead, he just stands there, stoic and still, and then finally pulls himself up. His chin lifts, but his gaze doesn’t, still cast across the floor. He quietly admits, “It just occurred to me that you will die.”

Hank’s stunned to silence. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know why that hit Connor so suddenly. Maybe to be comforting or maybe just uncomfortable, Hank grunts, “Everybody dies.”

Except Connor. He’ll be young and handsome forever. He’ll go on far past when Hank’s body expires, and then he’ll be alone. But Hank figures he’ll find some one new to bother and adore. He’s too beautiful to be alone for long. 

He obviously doesn’t think that. He steps closer and opens his arms, and the next thing Hank knows, he’s ensconced in a warm hug. Connor burrows into the crux of his shoulder and squeezes him tight. 

Hank’s... touched. 

He holds Connor back, hoping the end doesn’t come for a long time. For the first time in three years, he actually has something to live for.


End file.
